Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,32

I rubbed her cheek with my thumb.

“No worries, baby,” I murmured. “I intend to deserve it this time.”

Excitement fluttered through my stomach, and I curled my fist, almost feeling her in it.

A knock sounded on the door, and it opened wide, Aydin entering and carrying a plate.

My heart hammered, and I watched as he stopped and looked at her, his golden, brown eyes dark with mischief.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

She shot her head up and whipped around like she hadn’t heard him knock. Unsheathing the knife, she held it tightly at her side, backing up to put more distance between him and her.

He set the plate and silverware down and looked up at her as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I don’t remember you saying that.”

“No?” He smiled. “Well, I meant to.”

He said no one would touch her. They weren’t synonymous, I’d learned here.

He gazed at her, and I folded my arms over my chest, watching him watch her and waiting for any movement.

But he simply drew in a deep breath and turned around.

“Eat,” he said, walking to the door. “And bathe. You’re filthy.”

He pointed to the white porcelain tub in the corner of the room.

“Or I’ll bathe you,” he warned over his shoulder. “And there’s five of me to hold you down.”

He closed the door, locking it, and she stood there for a moment, glancing from the door to me and back to the door again. Taking the chair at the desk, she fit it underneath the door handle as if that would keep us out, and then she walked over, lifting the plate up to her face.

She sniffed the pasta.

He wouldn’t poison her food. What fun would that be?

He was just getting started with her.

I closed my eyes, turning away.

• • •

I clenched the window frame on both sides, staring out into the vast, silent night high above the rest of the house.

Michael.

They’d sent her here. I knew it. But why? To motivate me?

It had to be them, and if they could get someone in, why not one of them?

I had my plans for her, but there were bigger things at play right now, and it wasn’t the time.

Fuck.

I squeezed the frame, hearing the wood crack in my fist.

Did they know what she did? They would’ve had to in order for Rika, Banks, and Winter to be on board with this.

It was kind of cool, I guess. I figured they’d find me, and never doubted they’d look, at least, even if it did take them forever.

Unfortunately, none of it was necessary. I knew exactly what I was doing, and even though it pissed me off, I couldn’t blame them for doubting that I was in control.

The stairs creaked, and I heard a voice behind me as someone entered my room. “Can you finish it?” Aydin asked.

I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him stand at the top of the stairs leading into my attic room. He walked over, carrying his shirt in his hand and holding my eyes like a snake.

Always like a snake, coiled for the kill, and when it struck, you didn’t even know what had happened until it was over.

I nodded, pulling off my T-shirt and tossing it on my bed. I grabbed my kit and joined him at the leather bench I had sitting against the wall.

Setting his shirt down, he laid on the bench and tucked the other arm under his head as I poured the rest of the black ink I’d siphoned into a small dish.

I sat down and picked up the needles I’d tied to a pencil and dipped it in the ink. I approached him, leaning down to his right shoulder.

“So, what should I do with her?” he asked.

I faltered for a moment but then pressed the three-needle tool into him, breaking the skin as the ink seeped immediately into the wound.

I didn’t answer, because I knew better than to answer.

“You didn’t help her,” he mused, unfazed by the pain. “She clearly expected you to.”

I pressed again and again, redipping the needles into the ink every few moments as I tattooed the final line and colored it in.

His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, not missing a beat. I had some professional ink on my body, but a lot of mine was homemade like this, and I knew well it hurt.

Like Damon, though, it was the pain or it was nothing with Aydin.

“She’s a fighter,” he said.

He gazed up at the vaulted